


this bed ain't big enough for the two of us

by ChronicTonsillitis



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Pining, non-traditional bedsharing, spoiler alert: this bed is in fact big enough for the two of them, then traditional bedsharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicTonsillitis/pseuds/ChronicTonsillitis
Summary: “Just stay up late, like the rest of us,” Bellamy said, turning back to his desk, “Or find somewhere else to sleep.”Futilely, he tried to zone back in on his homework. His eyes narrowed as he heard not the sound of the door, but a creak of bedsprings and the ruffle of covers.“Clarke?” Bellamy asked.“Yes?”He turned slowly to face her. “That is not what I meant.”****Clarke's roommate Octavia keeps sexiling her at inopportune times. Good thing their RA is Octavia's brother and also a complete pushover. (Winner of Best AU Fic <10k and tied for Best Bedsharing Fic in the 2020 BFWAs)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 29
Kudos: 646
Collections: Bellarke smut





	this bed ain't big enough for the two of us

**Author's Note:**

> Bellamy is a horny boi in this and, as stated, Clarke's RA, fair warning

She stalked past him into his room the minute the door swung open, audibly huffing. “Your sister is a fucking menace.”

“Please, do come in,” Bellamy said blandly. Dropping the door, he leaned up against it as it shut, crossing his arms across his chest. He raised an eyebrow at the blonde.

Clarke was dressed for bed, but she looked ready to fight. Her face was bright red, and she clutched a bag of toiletries tightly in one fist. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and Bellamy had to actively force his eyes away from creamy skin exposed by her tank top.

He’d met Clarke the week of move-in, a few months back. Bellamy was both her RA and her roommate’s brother, so he knew her probably better than any of the other people on the hall, with the exception of Octavia. They did not, as a rule, get along very well; at least topically. Bellamy and Clarke ended up in the same circles a lot because of Octavia and other mutual friends, and they spent a lot of that time sniping at each other. 

That said, she was smart, and funny, and nice to his sister, and half the time when they fought it was more a battle of wills than anything else. Bellamy liked her, honestly, even if he was loathe to admit it; but it was still a surprise for her to be here, in his room, at this hour of night.

Did he mention she was pretty? Clarke was very pretty, even when she was clearly enraged.

“Your sister,” Clarke spat, her teeth gritted, “Has somehow, in the five minutes I was in the bathroom, managed to come home and start fucking her boyfriend in our room.”

Bellamy blinked. “What?”

Clarke threw up her hands in frustration. “Octavia and her boyfriend are boning in my room. It’s already 11:30, and I have an 8 AM class tomorrow.”

Bellamy looked at her, confused. And more than a little grossed out, really. “And you’re telling me… why?”

“You’re the RA!” Clarke growled. “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, do something?”

Bellamy snorted. “That’s not really in my job description,” he drawled, pushing off the wall. Crossing the room, he sat back down at his desk facing his work.Clarke continued to stand in front of his bed, glaring at his back. He gestured with a highlighter towards the door. “Feel free to see yourself out.”

“Are you serious?” Clarke protested. “It’s roommate conflict, and quiet hours. That’s definitely RA stuff.”

Bellamy spun lazily in his chair to face her. She crossed her arms indignantly, her chin high.

“Honestly, Clarke, if it were anybody else I might humor you.” He shrugged apologetically. “But it’s O. And for the sake of our relationship, I’m going to continue willfully pretending that Lincoln doesn’t exist.” 

Clarke groaned. “But what am I supposed to do?” Her voice was shrill, almost a whine, and it made Bellamy want to laugh. “I need to go to sleep.”

Bellamy shrugged again. “Stay up late, like the rest of us.” He turned back to his desk. “Or find somewhere else to sleep.”

“Fine,” she said.

Bellamy nodded. “Great. Glad to help.”

Futilely, he tried to zone back in on his homework. His eyes narrowed as he heard not the sound of the door, but a creak of bedsprings and the ruffle of covers. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy asked.

“Yes?”

He turned slowly to face her. “That is not what I meant.”

She looked innocently at him from her spot tucked beneath his blankets. His dick twitched at the image of her in his bed, and he willed it down. It was inappropriate. She was a freshman, and he was technically an authority figure, even if he was pretty shitty at his job. Just because she was Octavia's roommate and they hung out more off the hall than on did not mean she was exempt from his RA oversight. Seriously. It didn't.

He internally pointed an accusing finger at his libido. _It didn't._

“You can’t sleep in my bed.”

Clarke blinked up at him. “Why not?” She asked petulantly. “You’re not using it.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I will be.”

She shrugged and rolled over, snuggling deeper into the covers. “Wake me up when you need it. I’m sure they’ll be done by then.

He stared at her back for a minute, considering, then shrugged. He flicked on his desk lamp, and got up, going over to the wall and turning off the overhead.

Clarke sighed contentedly from his bed. “Perfect.”

Bellamy tried to focus on his work and not the sleepy sounds of the girl behind him. Eventually the clock hit 2 AM and he closed his books with a sigh, rubbing his tired eyes. 

He stood up, looked at the blonde curled up snugly in his bed, and shook his head. Grabbing his toiletries, he slipped out of his room to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. When he returned, he sat on the edge of his bed and gently shook Clarke awake.

“Hey, c’mon,” Bellamy said softly. “Time for you to go to your own bed.”

Clarke blinked at him slowly and yawned. “What time is it?”

“Just past two in the morning.”

Clarke nodded, wetting her lips, and sat up. Bellamy watched with barely concealed amusement as she dragged herself out of the bed and fumbled for her things with half-opened eyes, collecting them and lurching towards the door.

“You know,” he said, a small grin teasing the corners of his lips. Clarke looked at him, one hand on the doorknob. “You could say thank you.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed and she flipped him the bird. Bellamy laughed as the door clicked shut behind her. He stripped off his shirt and flicked off his desk lamp, climbing into the bed she’d just vacated. The sheets were warm and his pillow smelled sweet, girly somehow. It wasn’t a bad smell, he decided.

Not at all.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep quickly, dreaming of blue eyes and blonde hair and full tits in a thin purple tank top. 

Oh yeah, Bellamy thought upon waking; sweet smell in his nose, hard cock tenting his pants. He was definitely fucked.

****

The next time she knocked was a little over a week later, just long enough for Bellamy to be surprised to find her waiting outside his door.

“Did you need something?” he asked, standing in the jamb of the doorway, door propped open with one arm.

Clarke pouted at him. She was wearing a different tank top this time, he noticed somewhat unwillingly. This one was white. And just a little bit see-through. 

She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes that made him instantly suspicious. “Are you going to be up for a while longer?”

“Maybe,” Bellamy said effusively, knowing that he certainly was. “Why?”

“Great,” Clarke said brightly, trying to step past him into his room. Bellamy rolled his eyes and closed the door slightly, blocking her passage.

“Oh, come on!” Clarke huffed, and Bellamy cracked a smile. “Please?”

“Nice try,” he said. “But no.”

Bellamy gave her a smirk and went to turn back into his room, but Clarke stuck her foot in the door, stopping it from closing. He frowned at her. 

“What part of no was unclear to you?”

Clarke smiled sweetly back in response. “The part where if you don’t let me stay, I’m going to sit outside your door and loudly describe, _in detail_ , what I just walked in on in my room.”

Bellamy’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

There were few things in life Bellamy wanted to hear about less than his little sister’s sex life. Maybe no things, in fact. Clarke had picked nearly the ultimate ammunition. He should resent it, but honestly, he was a little impressed.

Clarke’s grin grew wider. “Oh yes, I really would.”

Bellamy let out a big sigh, and opened the door fully, letting her in. She immediately climbed into his bed, curling up and closing her eyes with a catlike satisfaction that made Bellamy smile despite himself.

“You play dirty, Princess,” he noted, watching her from his place beside the door. 

“I know,” Clarke said with a yawn. “Can you turn off the lights please?”

“So needy,” he grumbled; but complied, flipping them off and going back to sit at his desk. “This is the last time, alright? Either work it out with O or find somewhere else to go.”

Clarke hummed in response. “Shhh,” she said, her voice muffled by his comforter, “I’m sleeping.”

Bellamy just shook his head.

****

It wasn’t the last time, not by far.

It honestly wouldn’t have been so much of a problem, but Bellamy actually _liked_ Clarke. She was snarky, and smart, and beautiful; and 100% off limits, because, again, she was a freshman and his sister’s roommate and he was her RA. That would be bad. Bad vibes. No good, creepy, dirty rotten vibes. 

Even if his sister, who was the same age as Clarke, was dating a guy the same age as Bellamy, it was still bad. Because Bellamy did not approve of that relationship, so he definitely couldn’t use it to justify crushing on Clarke. Because that would be hypocritical of him, so he absolutely couldn’t crush on Clarke, no matter how hard it was not to do so. 

And he wouldn’t have such a hard time not crushing on Clarke if he didn’t have to smell her on his sheets and wake up with her name on his lips. 

Well, probably, at least.

So she definitely couldn’t keep sleeping over. It wasn’t working, and he needed to nip it in the bud before anyone (Bellamy) got in too deep.

The fifth time she came by, Bellamy tried just not responding to her knocks. This was not an effective strategy, because after the fifth knock, she simply opened his door and strode right in, planting herself directly in his bed as he gaped at her. 

“Um— No?”

Clarke shrugged petulantly. “You weren’t answering the door.”

“You can’t—” Bellamy stuttered, eyes wide. “What if I’d been naked or something?”

_Or watching porn_ , he thought in horror, imagining Clarke seeing just what he’d been watching lately. His normal type was tall, thin, leggy brunettes; which was reflected in his porn habits,but for some strange reason, he hadn’t been finding himself clicking on those kinds of videos lately. 

No, these days he watched more along the lines of _‘Busty Amateur Blonde Coed Gets Railed By Massive Cock!!!_ ’ or, you know, something similar. Something more or less tasteful, but just as absolutely damning.

His theory about the smell of her on his sheets being his root problem was probably not quite as accurate as he hoped, but too bad. Bellamy could dream.

Clarke rolled her eyes at him, dismissing the question. “Okay, but you weren’t naked.”

“But what if I had been?”

He needed to stop imagining that exact scenario. It was making him sweat.

Clarke looked at him demurely, a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “What if I’d been someone else and you hadn’t answered?”

Bellamy glared at her. “I knew it was you, no one else comes by this late.”

Clarke gave him a satisfied look as he walked into her trap. “But what if it hadn’t been?”

“You—” Bellamy started, narrowing his eyes and pointing an accusing finger at her. Clarke smiled sweetly back, and he let out a huff, deflating. “You’re a pain.”

Clarke hummed in agreement, wrapping herself up in his blankets. He watched as her blonde hair splayed gold across his pillow, which would undoubtably smell like her for at least the next two days.

Bellamy had to force his eyes away from her, turning his attention back to his work. After a few minutes though, she broke the silence.

“Hey, Bellamy?” Clarke asked.

His hand clenched around his pen and his eyes closed tight for a second. Her voice was so soft, so sweet, _so fucking_ —he had to stop. 

“What?”

Clarke let out a breathy hum that shot right to his dick. Maybe she wanted to tell him she liked him. Maybe this was all some big seduction, and she was going to ask him to join her and—

“Can you turn out the lights?”

Bellamy groaned.

****

After that, he started locking his door so she couldn’t just waltz in. This, unfortunately, was just as effective as he’d hoped.

Which is to say, it kept her out of his room, but not his head.

“Who is it?” Bellamy called out, when he heard the first knock.

There was no response. Instead of stopping, which was his expectation of how this would play out, the knocking came faster, more insistent.

Which, okay, he knew was probably her, but he couldn’t just leave a student stranded in the hall. He went to the door and cracked it open, catching just enough of a peek of blonde before closing it again, sliding the lock shut. 

“Hey!” Clarke called. 

“Go away, Clarke.”

“There’s no where else to go!”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, leaning his weight on the door with one hand. “There’s couches in the common room.”

“C’mon, Bellamy,” she whined outside his door. “Please, just let me in.”

He felt it pull at his heart, begging him. He thought, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad. Who was he really hurting by letting her sleep there? Definitely not her.

And if she was there, he’d be able to look at her, and listen to the little breathy noises she made as she fell asleep. He wondered what tank top she was wearing tonight, if it was the white one. Bellamy really liked the white one, because— Okay, no. No, no, no.

“Sorry! Can’t hear you! Putting my headphones in!”

Bellamy walked back to his desk and sat down, listening to her grumble outside the door. Eventually, he heard her stomp down the hall.

When he climbed into bed that night, his pillow didn’t smell like anything but detergent. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any better.

****

She didn’t come back for weeks after that.

This made Bellamy both happy, because he could finally stop popping a hard-on every time he sniffed his pillow; and sad, because he really fucking wanted to see Clarke in his bed again.

He saw her during the day, sure, but their schedules didn’t line up quite so well anymore, and she was so different in public. Harder, somehow.

Not to mention she wore more clothes, although he should’ve taken that as a blessing. Unfortunately, even with Clarke no longer sleeping in his bed, Bellamy still regularly dreamed about her. Her and her smart mouth, and her full tits, and her sweet smile and— he was fucked! Just absolutely fucked. 

The knock this time came around 9 PM, which made it stand out. Clarke usually didn’t come until later, and she hadn’t been by since the last time when he’d refused to let her in. Still, better to be cautious. 

“Who is it?” Bellamy called.

“It’s Clarke.” Of course it was. He grinned, leaning back in his chair. At least she still wanted to sleep in his bed, even if he couldn’t let her.

“No.”

Clarke huffed behind the door.“Bellamy, seriously, this time I really need to come in.”

He tossed his pen up in the air and caught it, lips curled in a smug smile. “Seriously, you really need to find somewhere else to go. It’s not even late anyways, just wait up.”

“I’ve been sleeping on the couches like you suggested—which by the way, fucking sucks—but this time I seriously need to come in.”

Her voice was sincere — _desperate_ , even— and Bellamy frowned, sitting back up. “Why?”

“Just—” Clarke sighed heavily. “Will you please open the door? Just this once, I promise.”

Bellamy was getting a little worried, so he gave in, standing and making his way over to the door. He unlatched the lock and peered down at her through a crack in the door.

“Oh,” he said, and stepped back from the door.

Clarke followed him in, quietly glaring. She was wearing only a towel, hair wet on her shoulders, clearly having just come from the shower. 

“Uh,” Bellamy stuttered, rucking a hand through his hair. He tried to keep his eyes averted but they kept being drawn back to the glistening skin. “Do you— can I get you something to wear?”

“Please.” Clarke sat down on his bed and Bellamy’s mouth went dry as the towel strained at the top where it was tucked above her breasts.

He continued staring down at her, throat ticking. “Right, I—” She raised one eyebrow and he turned his eyes away, flushing. “You can just grab whatever.”

Bellamy gestured at the dresser and sat back down, trying to school his expression. “Shirts are on top, shorts and sweatpants are on the bottom.”

He listened to the sound of his drawers opening and closing, pretending to focus on his work, but all he could think about was how she was right there, so close, and so nearly naked. The scent he’d smelled on his pillow must have been her shampoo, because it was strong enough for him to smell it from his desk, warm and sweet and damp, carried like steam from her wet hair.

“Don’t turn around,” Clarke warned, and Bellamy nodded. 

His fingers clenched around his paper with a crunch as he heard the soft thump of her towel hitting the ground behind him. Bellamy listened to the ruffle of cloth as she dressed and tried desperately not to picture the skin being covered up.

“Okay,” Clarke said, and Bellamy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It’s safe.”

He turned in his desk chair to look at her and nearly groaned. She’d picked his soccer shirt from high school, emblazoned with his name across the back, and—

“Are those my boxers?”

Clarke blushed and looked down, tugging on the hem of the shirt that nearly covered them completely. God, he was so fucked for this girl. Just excruciatingly fucked. Someone up there had to be playing a joke on him. “Sorry, was that not okay?”

Bellamy shrugged. “No, no, it’s—” _So fucking hot,_ he thought, and swallowed hard, shaking the words away _._ “It’s fine.”

“Alright, cool,” Clarke said, smiling shyly. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to be naked, I’ll go to the common room now.”

She moved towards the door and Bellamy’s heart leapt into his throat.

“No!” Clarke stopped still, startled, and Bellamy winced, collecting himself. “Sorry, I just meant, uh— you can stay, if you want.”

“Oh,” she replied, surprised. 

Bellamy shrugged, attempting to come off nonchalant and not like the absolute creepy pervert he was being. “I mean, just this once, if you want.”

“Okay,” Clarke agreed, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Thanks.”

“I’ll just—” he stuttered, gesturing to the papers he’d been grading. His ears were hot, and he hoped to god that he wasn’t visibly blushing.

“Right.” Clarke settled onto his bed, and he turned back to his desk, mentally cursing himself.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice curious.

He turned to look at her, surprised. “Grading papers.”

She was sitting up on his bed, leaning up against the wall, her head cocked slightly as she watched him.“For what?”

Bellamy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Shouldn’t you—why aren’t you sleeping?”

Clarke shrugged, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Sorry, it’s still kinda early, even for me; but I’ll stop bothering you.”

“No!” Bellamy said quickly. “No, it’s fine, I was just wondering. The papers are from the class I TA for.”

“Yes, I figured,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “But what class?”

“Uh, Magic and Myth in the Roman Tradition.” He gave her an abashed smile, rubbing the back of his neck. Bellamy had learned over the years that Classics? Not a sexy field of study. In fact, usually so decidedly unsexy that he often got teased, even if it was friendly. “Probably not your thing.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted, but grinned back. “But how will I know if you don’t tell me about it?”

Oh, for the love of— Fuck. She was perfect. Sitting there on his bed, in his clothes, eyes fucking sparkling, not making fun of him for his embarrassing interests—

Bellamy leaned back, and told her everything.

****

She was back at his door three days later. Despite his better judgement, he unlocked the door on the first knock, leaning in the doorway to look at her. 

“So I know you said just this once…” Clarke trailed off, giving him a hopeful grin.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, and opened the door wider, letting her past.

Clarke’s eyes widened and she bounced into the room, throwing herself into his pillows with a sigh. Bellamy watched, amused.

“Tired?”

Clarke groaned, closing her eyes. “Fucking exhausted.”

His lips quirked into a small smile and he turned back to his desk, settling in front of his work. After a few minutes of pretending to read his paper, his eyes flicked over to Clarke, happily tucked beneath his comforter.

“You know,” he said, tapping his pen against the edge of the desk. “You haven’t given my clothes back yet.”

She peeked her head out of the covers, gazing at him petulantly. “They look better on me.”

And, in her defense, Bellamy agreed with her. They did certainly look better on her. In fact, they looked fantastic. Wonderful enough that Bellamy hadn’t stopped thinking about it since she’d left his room, but, then again, he was fucked.

Something deep and possessive in him had _really_ liked seeing Blake on her back as she’d left the room. He wondered if anybody else had seen. He kinda hoped they had.

Which, no! Bad! He was her RA. It would be inappropriate for the other freshman on hall to see her wearing his clothing. Definitely bad. Very bad.

But, god, did he wish.

“You can’t keep them,” he said, not meaning it for a goddamn second.

“I’ll bring them by tomorrow,” Clarke muttered, and rolled away from him. “Now hush.”

Bellamy put in a token grumble, but suppressed a smile, watching as she made herself comfortable in his bed. In his fucking sheets. Not in his clothes this time, which was a goddamn shame. He wondered if he could somehow gift them to her. 

That night, when he woke her up to leave, she yawned and put a hand on his cheek.

Bellamy froze as she gazed up at him with tired blue eyes. “This won’t be the last time.”

Her voice was soft, teasing, and he felt his heart clench with joy and hope and—something else. 

“No,” Bellamy said, and smiled. Clarke grinned back, dragging herself upright as he sat back and watched. “No, I don’t think it will.”

****

And it wasn’t. Clarke came back regularly, at least three times a week. He didn’t fight her on it anymore, and he didn’t lock his door unless he was actually doing something unsavory.

It became almost routine, having her come in. She’d slip through the door and plop right into bed, rolling herself up in his sheets. Sometimes she’d stay up and they’d talk about her classes, her friends, his friends, the world, anything really. Sometimes she’d turn out the overhead light as she came in and he’d know it wasn’t a talking night. He started to keep his desk light on in the evenings, just in case.

Tonight had been a tired night, and all he’d heard from her was the soft sounds of her falling asleep. She didn’t talk in her sleep, not quite, but she did make these little groans. Bellamy really liked hearing them. He didn’t care to put a lot of critical thought into why that was, nor about just when those sounds made a reappearance in his imagination. 

Nope, nothing unsavory here.

When it was time, he shook her awake as usual and watched her leave, taking a deep breath before gathering up his toiletries and heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

When he’d finished, Bellamy started to make his way back to his room; but as he passed by the common room, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair.Why was she—?

“Clarke?” 

Her head twisted, looking at him. “What?”

His eyebrows furrowed, mouth curving into a frown. “Why don’t you just go to your own room?”

“I tried,” she sighed. “They’re not done.”

Bellamy made a face. “Seriously?”

Clarke shrugged, looking exhausted. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

“You’re just gonna sleep out here?”

She smiled wryly at him. “Don’t really have anywhere else to go, seeing as my spare bed is about to be occupied.” She nodded her chin at his sleep pants. “It’s fine, like I said, it’s not the first time.”

And Bellamy— he really didn’t like that for some reason. It sat twisted in a hard ball in his throat, choking him. 

He thought about her face as she slept, so soft and vulnerable, and the idea of someone else coming into he common room and finding her. Someone else seeing her, asleep in her little shorts and her goddamn too thin tank top, the buds of her nipples clearly visible through the fabric. Someone else touching her, shaking her to wake her up, offering her their bed, climbing in after her— No. He didn’t like that at all.

(Dude…..Fucked.)

“You know, I’m sure we could both fit in my bed,” Bellamy blurted, and immediately blanched, running a hand along the back of his neck. “I mean, if you want.”

Clarke eyed him, her expression implacable. “Is that— are you offering?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bellamy said, and shrugged. He could feel tension growing with each passing second. “Sorry, that was inappropriate, I—”

“No!” Clarke said quickly. “No, I mean, that would be great. If you’re sure.”

Bellamy grinned tentatively. “Okay, cool.”

She got up and followed him to his room, climbing back into his bed. Bellamy stood by the door, throat ticking, one hand on the light switch.

This was— more than he had necessarily prepared for. All the time of her in his bed, sure he’d imagined joining her, but for it to really be happening… What was he supposed to do? Which side was he supposed to take? What if they touched? Would he wake up before her, or would she be gone in the morning?

Clarke turned towards him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there all night or are you coming to bed?”

Bellamy’s lips quirked up, and he flicked off the light.

He slid into bed, feeling the distant warmth of her body in his sheets. His bed really was big enough for the two of them, and he lamented the fact. It was hard to think about sleep with her so close, the smell of her hair stronger than ever, what with the source being within touching distance; but eventually his eyes closed, and he drifted off.

Bellamy woke up in the morning to an unfamiliar alarm, and a blonde clamoring over him. His hand reached out automatically to grab her arm and she stopped with one knee on either side of his body, looking down at him.

“Uh, sorry,” Clarke said, looking away. In his drowsy state he caught a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. She was embarrassed. Embarrassed to have stayed with him? Bellamy wasn’t sure what to make of it. “I really have to—”

She tugged at the arm in his grip and he released her. “Right.”

Clarke gave him a tight smile, climbing off him and turning off her alarm. “Well, I’ve got to go to class, but thanks.”

“No problem,” Bellamy said, swallowing hard. “I mean—it was just this once. No big deal.”

“Right, of course.” Clarke looked away from him, her expression unreadable. “Well, thanks anyways.”

Bellamy watched as she gathered up her stuff and headed for the door. “Right, yeah.”

She nodded as she left. “See you around.”

The door swung shut behind her, and Bellamy let out a long breath. “Fuck.” 

That was— he did not handle that well. He wasn’t sure how exactly he should’ve handled it, but it wasn’t like that. It was so fucking awkward; she’d never want to come back.

He pulled back the covers and glared down at the insistent erection that had emerged as Clarke had straddled him, her bare thighs flanking his stomach, hips just north of his crotch, so tantalizingly close and— 

Bellamy threw an arm over his eyes, hissing through his teeth.

“Fuck.” 

****

He tried not to obsess about it, about having had Clarke in his bed with him. After all, it was just one time, and nothing had happened. 

That may have made it worse though. He couldn’t help but feel like he had squandered his only chance, like he should’ve stayed awake and made the most of every second; even though that would’ve been fucking creepy and also probably not as interesting and romantic as his brain was making it out to be.

Still, Bellamy kept himself satiated with the fact that she kept coming back anyways, even if he didn’t get to share the bed with her.

One night a few weeks later, he came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth to find Clarke walking in the opposite direction of her room. Bellamy frowned.

“Where are you going?”

She looked back at him, confused. “Common room.”

His jaw clenched, eyes widening. “Again?” Clarke shrugged, and Bellamy’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyebrows drew together, forehead wrinkling. “Why would I?”

“Oh,” Bellamy said, his voice short. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to seem like— I mean, if you’d rather sleep in there, you can, of course.”

“What?” Clarke asked.

Bellamy stared back. “What?”

Clarke frowned. “Rather sleep in there compared to what?”

“Oh,” Bellamy stuttered, rucking a hand through his hair. “Instead of with me, I guess. But it’s fine if you don’t want to, obviously, I just— you know, the option—” he looked at Clarke, who was still staring blankly at him and winced, teeth grinding at the nonsense spilling out of his lips. “You know what? Never mind. Sorry.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “You said ‘just this once’.”

“I— What?”

She stared at him hard, expression tight. “Last time, when I slept over. You said it was fine ‘just this once’.”

“Oh,” Bellamy said dumbly. He gave her a sheepish shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, when have I ever meant that? I lied, I guess.”

“So I can sleep in your room tonight?” Clarke asked, and he nodded. “And if this happens again?”

_Whenever you want_ , he thought, _Always._ He then immediately fought to beat that horny, breathy, _bastard_ part of his mind down with an imaginary chair.

“Yeah, I mean—“ Bellamy shifted uncomfortably, feeling his ears get hot. “Clarke, I’m not going to make you sleep in the common room.”

“Huh,” she said. “Okay. Good to know.”

She followed him back to his room, letting him lead. Remembering the last time, Bellamy made sure to take the side of the bed closest to the wall. As much as he’d enjoyed—loved, obsessed over—having her climb over his body in the morning, it was probably not advisable to have her that close to certain parts of his anatomy, especially when he couldn’t guarantee their reactions. 

Clarke turned off the light and slid into bed after him. They lay facing each other, their bodies distantly curled towards one another. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he smiled.

“You must really hate the couches.”

Clarke let out a little huff of a laugh. “I mean yes, I do, but I also really like your bed.”

Bellamy’s heart stuttered, and he longed to reach out and touch her face. “Even when I’m in it?”

“Even then.” Clarke gave him a soft grin that made him melt even further. “Maybe even better then.”

“Well,” Bellamy said, fighting the urge to pull her towards him. “I guess it’s not so bad having you in it either.”

The light in the room was dim, but he could still see her roll her eyes. “Oh, save it,” Clarke said, and snuggled into his pillow. Bellamy watched fondly as she closed her eyes. “We both know you like it.”

And, yeah. He did. He really, really did.

****

It became a somewhat regular thing, the two of the sharing the bed. In the beginning, he was very polite, and stiff; careful not to let any part of his body touch hers. 

Bellamy kept waiting, somewhat romantically, for them to wake up entangled in each other, but it never happened. They fell asleep apart, and woke up apart. No touching, just the distant warmth of the other person.

One night though, the AC was on a little too high, and Clarke rolled towards him, tucking her face into his chest. Bellamy’s back stiffened, surprised and unsure.

“I’m freezing,” she huffed, pressing her cold nose to the skin of his chest. It was pretty chilly, he guessed, but she was also wearing very little clothing, just her standard tank top and shorts. Bellamy had at least opted for sweatpants, although he was still shirtless.

His arm came up tentatively to wrap around her. “Is this— is this okay?”

Clarke nodded, burrowing further into him, as though she could absorb all of his heat. Bellamy started as she pressed her icy hands against his stomach. 

“Jesus, Princess,” he yelped, jerking back from her. She pressed forward insistently and he let out a huff, wrapping her tighter in his arms. “Warn a guy next time.”

“Wouldn’t be so cold if you didn’t insist on sleeping six feet away from me,” she murmured against his skin, and he felt something in his chest leap.

“And what would you prefer?” Bellamy asked, heart in his throat.

Clarke let out a satisfied sigh, snuggling into him. His hand stroked timidly over her hair. “This is good.”

(God, he was fucked.)

“Huh,” he choked, his fingers grazing the strap of her tank top. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

(Just simply fucked. Ruined. Gonzo.)

He made sure to keep his crotch away from her, at least. No need to go about revealing just how easily his cock responded to her touch. And her smell. And her face. And her body. And her words.

Okay, so just to her in general.

Bellamy had it bad.

****

There was something to be said for sharing a bed, sleeping wrapped up in each other. It was a kind of intimacy Bellamy had never really considered, especially with someone who he was not dating, nor even fucking; but having it was fucking amazing. He loathed the nights when she went back to her room and stayed there.

In fact, he was starting to dread having to wake her up at all. Tonight, Bellamy waited until he was done getting ready for bed, not eager to see her leave.

“Hey, Clarke,” he said, shaking her awake.

She rolled out of bed with a groan and a yawn, stalking towards the door without fully opening her eyes. Bellamy let out a long breath and slid into his warm sheets, waiting.

He gave her a few minutes, not just because he was hoping she’d come back, but because it had been happening pretty often. Maybe every other time she left, she was back in his arms before he had even attempted to start sleeping.

He really didn’t mind. Really. 

The feel of her in his arms, the sweet smell of her hair right under his nose, the grumpy noises she made in the morning when her alarm went off too goddamn early for any sane person— yeah, Bellamy didn’t mind.

He turned towards the door as she opened it, slipping into the dark room.

“Again?” Bellamy asked, and Clarke nodded.

“You know,” he said, as she climbed into bed with him. He tried to sound casual, and she looked at him curiously. “You could just stay here next time, if you wanted.”

Clarke’s eyes searched his face and he looked away. “I could?” 

“Yeah, I mean—“ Bellamy shrugged, thankful she couldn’t see his blush in the dim light. “It seems silly to wake you up when you end up back here half the time anyways.”

“Hmm,” Clarke said. Bellamy waited, feeling doubt start to creep in, but Clarke just rolled over, pressing her back against his chest. He felt his breath hitch. “Okay, sounds good to me.”

Bellamy smiled, tucking one arm hesitantly around her stomach. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clarke clasped onto it, pulling the arm tighter across her.

His thumb started to rub slow circles into her skin and he stared at her in the quiet dark of his room, her hair glinting gold in front of him with what little light shone through his blinds from the street. God, she was so fucking beautiful. So—

Clarke whined, twisting in his arms. “Stop thinking so loud, I’m trying to sleep.”

Bellamy let out a low huff of a chuckle and relaxed into the pillows, closing his eyes. 

****

If there was any punishment more exquisite than having her close enough to touch but not being able to, it was having her in his arms half the week and still not being able to do anything more.

Bellamy was not one of those guys who believed in the friendzone, or thought that women owed men sex for being nice; but, holy shit, was he in over his head. Blue balls were quickly becoming Bellamy’s constant companion. And he fucking _welcomed_ them; so long as it meant he got to keep sleeping with Clarke in his arms, waking up with her hair in his face and her head on his pillow and his blankets wrapped more around her than around him.

So Bellamy was definitively _not_ allowed to fuck her, and that was fine. He’d never push her, or even ask her, because it would be so fucking inappropriate; but fuck if he didn’t feel like he was getting mixed signals. 

One of the signals was that Clarke was literally sleeping in his bed, draped all over him, running her hands over his body, and the other was that Clarke was literally sleeping in his bed, draped all over him, running her hands over his body and had not even tried to kiss him, so clearly she wasn’t interested.

He could live with it, he guessed. He certainly wasn’t going to mess around with anyone else, so it was a moot point. Regardless, he welcomed her into his bed and his arms every time she came, and wouldn’t fucking dream of having it any other way.

Bellamy was no stranger to self-control. He had plenty of it, and he wasn’t going to let his dick fuck this up for him.

In the end though, he probably didn’t need to have spent so much time fretting about it. Turns out the —in hindsight, very obvious-seeming— signals of Clarke _literally sleeping in his bed, draped all over him, running her hands over his body_ ; did in fact correlate to her wants and desires.

“You know,” Clarke said one night, as they lay face to face, bodies curled towards each other. “It’s not against the rules for an RA to have sex with someone on their hall. I looked it up a while ago.”

Bellamy’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh?”

“Discouraged, but not banned.” Clarke shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “In case you were wondering.”

In case he was—oh, he’d been wondering alright. Dreaming even. Bellamy hadn’t dared to pull out the handbook and check, in case there was anything explicitly telling him not to let her sleep over, let alone fuck him. So that was a revelation.

A fucking miracle, really. And for _Clarke_ to be the one to have brought it up, that meant—

“Huh,” he said, throat dry. “And were you? Wondering, I mean.”

“I may have been.”

Bellamy swallowed hard. “And now?”

Clarke hummed noncommittally. “Could be.”

“Huh,” he said again, dumbstruck. “Good to know.”

Clarke looked back at him, biting her lip. He tried to formulate a response, but drew a hard blank, all his blood currently occupied with other tasks than making sure his brain could generate a coherent reply.

When nothing came out of his mouth, Clarke groaned, rolling away from him. “Sorry, that was dumb, I should—”

Bellamy grabbed her wrist as she tried to climb out of the bed. “Wait, just— just give me a second, okay?”

Clarke conceded, relaxing into the bed. She waited, watching as Bellamy’s mind struggled to catch up.

“Huh,” he said eventually, and his head jerked in a short nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Clarke asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay,” he agreed, and pulled her into his lap.

Clarke moaned as their mouths met in a crushing kiss, and his tongue danced over hers, tracing her bottom lip. They kissed like it was an argument, battling for dominance, hands fisting in each other’s hair, pulling each other close enough to climb into their skin.

“Can’t fucking believe you,” Bellamy groaned, his lips tracing a hot line down the curve of Clarke’s jaw. She gasped as his mouth closed around the hollow of her throat, sucking hard at the soft skin. It would leave a mark, he knew. He wanted it to leave a mark so badly. “So fucking perfect.”

“Shut up,” Clarke breathed, taking his hands and sliding them beneath the fabric of her tank top. Her tiny fucking tank top. Her tiny, white, see-through, fucking tank top. “Shut up and touch me.”

Bellamy practically growled, pushing up her tank top (that fucking tank top) and pulling it over her head. He stared at her bare skin in the low light, just as creamy and smooth as he’d imagined, as he’d been imagining since the very first time she’d come to his room.

She helped him slide down her shorts and panties, wriggling eagerly out of them. He wrapped his hands around her waist, eyes darkening as he noticed how much of her skin he could cover, fingers spanning across the breadth of her abdomen. 

Clarke wasn’t tiny or delicate or fragile, but she was soft and petite, and fuck if he didn’t get some sick pleasure out of that, out of knowing he could just cover her up with his own body.

Her nails raked down his chest, grazing over his nipples, and his hips jerked under her, thrusting his covered cock up against her center. Clarke moaned, grinding down on him, her pussy soaking through his pants.

Bellamy swore and flipped them, holding himself over her. His head dipped to kiss her mouth hard before trailing down her body, mouthing at the bare skin. She writhed and he caught her hips, holding her down as his tongue slipped down from her navel, across her bare mound. 

Clarke keened as his lips closed around her clit. Bellamy released her hips, one hand moving to span over her belly, keeping her pelvis pressed into the mattress. He stroked through her folds with the other, wetting his fingers before pressing them into her hot cunt.

She sighed as he worked her open, stretching her to take his cock. Bellamy wanted to fuck her so hard she’d feel it for days, wanted to take her gently and slowly like the precious thing she was, wanted to make her come until she passed out, wanted to stroke her sweetly until she broke with his name on her lips. He wanted everything and anything, so long as it was Clarke.

(Fucked! He was good and truly fucked!)

Bellamy lapped at her clit, fucking her on his fingers until she came with a shudder. He slid up her body, pressing kisses as he went. Her hands tangled in his hair as he came closer; and she pulled his face to hers, tasting herself on his lips. 

Clarke’s legs wrapped around his hips, and she used her feet to tug down his sleep pants. Bellamy laughed into her mouth and pulled back, catching the grin on her face. 

“So eager,” he said, and kicked his pants and boxers off the rest of the way himself. Clarke tried to pull him towards her, but he was resisted, brain holding on to just the slightest sliver of lucid decision making.

“Condom?” Bellamy asked. He had been tested since the last time he’d had sex (approximately a million years ago, although he may not have been remembering correctly), and frankly, he wanted to fuck her raw, but he didn’t know what Clarke’s opinion on that would be. 

She bit her lip. “If this—us, having sex—is going to be a thing, and you’ve been tested, then I’m clean and on birth control; but if we’re gonna fuck other people—”

Bellamy pulled back, his lips twisting in a frown. “Are we?”

Her eyes met his, unblinking, assessing his meaning. “I don’t want to.”

“Good,” Bellamy said, giving her a feral grin. His lips found her neck, sucking hard on the column of her throat as she moaned. “I don’t want to either.”

Clarke’s feet hooked around his ass again, pulling him closer, and he let her this time. They both groaned as his cock slipped down the length of her slit. One of her hands slid between them, positioning the head of his cock right at her entrance.

Bellamy looked down at her, a question in his eyes. Clarke nodded.

He thrust himself in to the hilt, stopping only once he’d bottomed out inside her wet cunt. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, his lips right against her ear. Her hand tangled in his curls. Bellamy slid out and back in once, testing the angle. “So fucking tight.”

Clarke panted in his ear, eyes clenched tight. “Just fuck me, please.”

Bellamy laughed and pressed his lips to hers in a hungry kiss. “Alright, Princess.”

His cock pounded into her heat, her walls gripping at him deliciously. He knew she’d be fucking perfect, just knew it, and yet somehow this was even better than he'd imagined.

Clarke’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, knees hooked up over his hips. She urged him faster, deeper; her pelvis tilting to take his cock all the way, meeting his thrusts with her own.

Clarke cried out as Bellamy’s cock hit a certain spot inside her and his hips stuttered, looking down at her in wonder. Purposefully, he drove into her, striking the same place over and over until she was shaking, her pussy fluttering around him. 

With a growl, he reached a hand down to rub her clit, thrusting his cock at the same time. He wanted her to come again, needed her to. Bellamy was close, feeling the beginnings of his orgasm start to pull at him, and he worked her faster until she broke around him.

Feeling her cunt spasm, clenching around his cock, Bellamy groaned. His hips stuttered out a broken rhythm as her orgasm pulled him over; and he slammed his cock all the way home, all the way to the hilt one last time as he came, spilling deep inside her with a groan. 

He lay heavy on top of her, nearly boneless for a long moment until she poked him in the side.

“Fuck,” Bellamy breathed, and rolled off her, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Sorry.”

Clarke turned to face him, head propped up on one hand, leaning on her elbow. She grinned, watching as he panted. 

“Good?” Clarke asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bellamy let out a huff of a laugh, peeking out at her from beneath his arm. A smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “Good.”

She breathed a satisfied sigh as his arm reached out, pulling her against him. “God, you’re sweaty.”

He smiled, wiping a thumb over her own sticky brow. “Pot calling the kettle black, Princess.”

Clarke pressed her lips fondly against his skin. “I will compromise and say we're both sweaty.”

Bellamy chuckled. “Compromise accepted.”

They lay there, wrapped up in each other, letting their heartbeats slow back to normal. Bellamy’s sweat damp skin started to cool, and he dragged the sheets up over them.

“So,” Clarke said, her voice muffled against his chest. “To clarify, that wasn’t another ‘just this once’ thing, right?”

His arm tightened around her waist, mouth pressing a kiss into her gold curls. “Definitely not.” 

****

Her visits became more frequent, from three times a week, to four, to six, to every night. Bellamy didn’t mind, obviously. He wouldn’t have minded even if they weren’t fucking, which they were.

Only fucking, that is. 

Yeah, she still slept over, and yeah, he still got to stare at her longingly in the mornings, but something about the lack of romance was starting to get to him, to bother him for some reason.

Probably because he was in love with her. (Or, you know, fucked.)

He was terrified that it would stop, even with the increasing frequency; that one day she’d find someone to actually date, and not just her RA whose room she spent every night in because her roommate was apparently a sexual maniac, which was not something he wanted to be thinking about at all.

But it seemed like she liked him, it really did. Obviously she liked him enough to fuck him—and only him, thank god for small mercies—at least, and with astounding regularity. That might be enough.

Or not, but he was going to keep lying to himself anyways.

Bellamy woke up one Sunday with Clarke in his arms, her ass pressed back against a rapidly growing erection. He bit back a low groan as she shifted, trying not to wake her, but realized soon that the so-called shifting was more of an active grind.

One eye popped open. “Clarke?”

She grinned, pushing back more insistently. His hand came down hard on her hip and he didn’t hold back the sound this time.

Bellamy’s lips found her neck, sucking and nipping at the soft skin there as her hands reached back to tangle in his hair.

“God, you’re a fucking menace,” Bellamy breathed, as he slotted his cock between her legs. Clarke parted them to allow him easier access.

“You like it,” she responded, and gasped as he answered her with a slow thrust. Bellamy let out a low chuckle, brushing her hair back from her face.

His teeth nibbled at the skin where her shoulder met her neck as he fucked her lazily. He brought one hand around her front to play with her clit, circling with varying pressure until she was jerking and shuddering against him.

Bellamy fucked her through her orgasm, pounding into her from behind, their bodies spooned together, skin sticking to each other with sweat. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, as his hips began to lose their rhythm. His hand wrapped around her stomach, dragging her closer to him. “Could do this every fucking morning; you’re so good.”

Clarke let out a low moan and it sent him over, thrusting his cock into her hard as he came. Bellamy lay there for a moment, pressed up against her back, catching his breath, before rolling back. Clarke turned in his arms, landing with her head on his chest.

She tilted her chin to face him, watching with a smile as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Every morning, huh? We might be able to arrange that.”

Bellamy lay back on the pillows, one hand tucked behind his head. The fingers of his other hand toyed with a curl around Clarke’s face.

He considered their arrangement, and the frequency with which she ended up in his arms, and on his cock. It was probably too much for him to be able to keep dismissing it as convenience, and frankly, he didn’t want to.

Bellamy wanted Clarke to want to be there, to want to be with him, just like he wanted to be with her. 

“Is my sister really sexiling you every night?”

Clarke blushed, and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, I stopped checking a while ago.”

He’d never heard such a beautiful admission. Bellamy let out a low chuckle. “You fiend. And I just walked right into your trap. Your poor, trusting RA, just trying to help his students.”

She gave him an innocent look, batting her eyelashes. “Who said it was a trap?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, not believing her for an instant. She winked playfully, and settled her head back against his chest.

“Okay, so maybe it was a little bit of a trap,” Clarke admitted, tracing her fingers across her bare chest, “But I told you, it’s not technically against the rules.”

Bellamy smiled and kept stroking his hands through her hair, wrapping a small gold curl around his fingers.

“So,” he asked conversationally, tugging on the lock of hair. His stomach swooped in anticipation, nervous to take the leap he so deeply wanted. Clarke looked up at him, amused. “Did those rules say anything about an RA dating someone on their hall?”

Clarke’s mouth fell open and she blinked rapidly. “Definitely allowed. Actually, strongly encouraged.”

“Interesting.” Bellamy smiled at her, his heart booming joyously in his ears. “And when did you look all this up?”

“Hmmm.” Clarke bit her lip shyly, looking up in thought as she considered the question. “Maybe four days into the school year?”

That was— fuck. All this goddamn time he’d wasted. 

Bellamy groaned, pulling her over his hips so she straddled him. Clarke laughed, resting her palms against the skin of his chest. His fingers traced a pattern over her hipbone. “Took you four whole days, huh?”

Clarke shrugged, a grin pulling at her cheeks. “You were kind of a jerk during move-in. I didn’t like you at first.”

Bellamy smirked, bucking his hips so his cock slid through her folds, still slick and warm from their previous activities. Clarke moaned, throwing her head back and grinding down against him. “And now?”

Clarke’s mouth twisted playfully, lips pursed. “Not sure,” she said, and looked down at him, a glint in her eyes. “Maybe you should remind me.”

Bellamy let out an exaggerated sigh. 

“If I must,” he huffed, and flipped her. Clarke squealed as her ass bounced against the bed. Bellamy leaned over her, caging her in with his arms. “You’re very needy, you know.”

“You like it,” Clarke insisted. She trailed her fingers over his abs, smirking as he shuddered.

Bellamy leaned down and dropped a light kiss onto her lips. “I do,” he admitted. “I really do.”

She twisted her hands in his hair, pulling him down for another searing kiss. “Good, we’re in agreement then.”

Bellamy shook his head fondly, grinning. “So,” he asked, looking down at her. Their eyes met, blue on brown, and he felt something wonderful bloom warm and soft in his chest. “A date?”

Clarke smiled, hooking her feet around his ass and pulling him closer, so his cock nestled against her heat. 

“Next time?” she suggested lightly.

Bellamy groaned, and nodded. “Next time.”

(Oh, yeah. He was _fucked_.)

“Seriously though— four days?”

“…Maybe three.”

(But then again, maybe she was, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> Should I have written this instead of working on my WIPs? No! Did I? Yes!
> 
> this is officially the least angsty thing I have EVER written, so that's fun
> 
> hope u liked it, lemme know with kudos or comments, pick your poison


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